


Basic Instinct

by bunsevng



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angry Sex, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Enemies, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Implied Sub drop...?, M/M, Minho is silently Soft, NASCAR, No Aftercare, No Negotiation Whatsoever, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Racing, Rough Oral Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, be careful, but like, chan seungmin and felix are mentioned like. once, god I'm so bad at tagging, in the end they're sort of soft for each other, no proper aftercare at least, sorta?, spit, they have a beer afterwards, this is a bit mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunsevng/pseuds/bunsevng
Summary: And that’s when he crossed the finishing line under the waving checkered flag. After Kim Seungmin and, surprisingly, Lee Felix, who managed to take his position somewhere around Minho’s realizations, dick twitches and miseries.And that’s also when he heard that unmistakable voice resounding in his ears as the man behind Minho’s failure cursed under his breath.Seo Changbin. His racing enemy.(or where Minho and Changbin are racing enemies and Changbin does the impossible to make his enemy lose his first ever Cup Series championship, even if that involves a little bit of cheating and a lot of getting off)
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69





	Basic Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags!
> 
> Title is based on [Basic Instinct](https://open.spotify.com/track/3TLcc9bVRRdJoKgzNCqqZ5?si=GNxKS-LFTMWW8HB5RkKu2Q) by The Acid
> 
> This is my first ever smut, and it's pretty bad, so I'm sorry if you stumble upon this.
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you (somehow) enjoy!

Minho is fucking pissed off. 

He’s so pissed off it physically hurts. He can’t get over what happened on the raceway only some minutes ago. Not even as he stood on the podium, under the shameful tag of _third place_. Not even while Kim Seungmin bathed him and Lee Felix in champagne, tradition that the winner of the championship undergoes. Not even as he sits on the couch of his moving trailer, which is very much _not_ moving and very much empty save from his sole presence, under his request. He just _can’t_ stop the whole scenario from replaying like a damn endless loop in his head.

What’s worse is that he can’t stop hearing those moans, for the love of God.

Minho was only five laps away from winning the _whole damn season_ when static filled his in-ears. It startled him so badly that he shook his steering wheel, almost crashing his Toyota Camry against the wall - but he thankfully got it straight before anything devastating happened. 

After a while, it was pure silence. He couldn’t hear his spotter nor his crew chief talk to him. He started to desperately change channels in vain. His radio was obviously broken, and _that_ was a huge problem, but he wasn’t going to risk being this year’s Cup Series champion for a broken radio. After not much thought, Minho decided he was going to rely solely on his driving skills, and his rear view mirrors.

The deafening silence was anything but soothing, though. He could still hear the tired purring of his Camry’s V8 motor, of course, but being unable to get any directions, questions or just plain comments was extremely unsettling. 

It was okay though, because he would be the winner in what he assumed were only three more laps.

Still, he hoped for someone to talk in his ear. Anyone, truly; even if it was a messed up, crazy fan (sometimes they _actually_ interfere their radio communications). He was just going to be thankful for any words he could get. 

And now Minho knows that was the single most stupid thing he’s ever hoped for.

Almost instantly, as if to throw it on Minho’s face, the static returned - but mixed with another noise that sounded too much like a voice. As anyone would, Minho started to throw “hello”s and “can you hear me”s in an attempt to re-communicate with his team, never so happy to maybe hear his spotter’s, Bang Chan, voice again. 

But oh man, was the person on the other side anyone _except_ Bang Chan.

When Minho heard the first clear moan, his car swayed harshly and his pace faltered, being passed by the #22, Kim Seungmin, easily.

The person on the other side of the radio was _moaning_. Their voice sounded high pitched as they whined, sounding desperate. It sounded so sweet in Minho’s ears - annoyingly so, to the point that he started to notice his dick filling up at the sound. Minho was starting to get distracted. There were about two laps left and all Minho could hear in his ears were desperate _moans_. 

He had to focus.

He had to focus on the racetrack and on his car and on driving. Not on the sweet voice going off in his ears. He was very conscious that he could talk back, that he could send that person off, but he found himself petrified. He couldn’t take off his in-ears, unfortunately - that meant getting his hands off the steering wheel, taking off his helmet, and then yanking his in-ears out. It was impossible to manage at this point. So he drove. As he listened to someone get off and moan and whine and gasp needily in his ears. As he felt his dick swell up. As he started to gradually get more and more _pissed_.

At one point, he managed to catch something that made his head spin.

There was a motor purring beside the moans.

_One of the drivers was moaning in his ears._

The thought sent him into a frenzy. A _driver_. How in the world could one of these drivers be getting off as they drove? 

He only wondered for a second till he realized it’s actually very doable. He’s done it himself on the road, but fuck, during the _final of the championship_? This person is fucking insane. And how did they manage to call Minho as they-

That’s when the realization finally sunk in. 

Someone was doing this on purpose, of course. They were trying to distract Minho. Maybe they weren’t even getting off - just obnoxiously moaning like a twelve year old does when playing online games with their friends. They were doing this to make Minho lose. To not let him get his first ever Cup Series championship win. 

And Minho was going to fucking murder them.

“Who the fuck are you?!” He yelled.

He was surprised to hear a hitch on the other side of the line, and then a long, high pitched moan. Like the sound you’d hear falling from someone’s mouth when they _cum_ , and it was maybe the hottest sound he had heard so far. In his whole life, probably. It made his dick twitch and anger momentarily be replaced with the need to _fuck_. 

And that’s when he crossed the finishing line under the waving checkered flag. After Kim Seungmin and, surprisingly, Lee Felix, who managed to take his position somewhere around Minho’s realizations, dick twitches and miseries. 

And that’s also when he heard that unmistakable voice resounding in his ears as the man behind Minho’s failure cursed under his breath. 

_Seo Changbin_. _His racing enemy._

As soon as the name made its way into his brain, his radio started working again - in vain. The race was over and he made it third. The race was over and he was hard, and angry. The race was over and he’s heard Seo Changbin moaning like a pathetic needy bitch for about five laps.

Yeah, he was really fucking horny when the race was over.

And he still is, as he sits on the couch in the solitude of his moving truck that, again, is very much still. 

He’s _painfully_ hard, actually. He might not be doing anything about it yet, but his dick hasn’t gone down ever since he heard that first stupid moan in his radio. He still can’t quite digest it. He _needs_ to hear Seo Changbin again as much as he needs to literally stab him to death. The contrast between Seo’s pretentious, cocky attitude and his sweet, whiny moans were driving Minho insane. It pisses him off even more to realize that the man he can’t stop thinking about is the reason why he literally _lost_ , and that he somehow kept getting _more horny._ For a moment he genuinely considers looking for Seo and confronting him - but doing so entails more cons than pros. Firstly, Seo can very easily say that no, it wasn’t him on the radio and it was just a crazy fan and therefore Minho would actually look _deranged_. Secondly, he might punch Seo so hard it might dislocate his jaw. Thirdly, he might fuck Seo so hard it might leave him unable to walk. 

At the moment, the last one doesn’t sound so much like a _con_ perse, but it happens to be one since it’s _him_ Minho’s thinking about. His mortal enemy. The Dale Earnhardt to his Jeff Gordon. He shouldn’t think of his enemy like this. He shouldn’t want his enemy crying on his dick, bent over the back of the very own couch that he’s sitting on, moaning his name loudly only for _him_ to listen to. That’s not very enemy-like of Minho, if we are being honest.

He still has a raging hard on to take care of, though. So he might as well allow himself to bask one more time in the sweet memory of his enemy’s moans, his enemy’s desperation, his enemy’s-

Just as his palm finally presses against his bulge, someone knocks on the door.

He swallows the frustrated whine that makes its way up his throat and sighs, getting up to open the door.

He could just take a cold shower later.

“Hey.”

Or not.

Or not, because at his trailer’s door is no one other than _Seo Fucking Changbin_. 

Minho doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss him or kill him or close the door on his face.

Instead, his body acts before any thought kicks in and he grabs the collar of Changbin’s driving suit and yanks him inside, closing the door behind him and pushing him hard against it. He slams his hands on either side of his head and leans in slightly, only to look a little bit more intimidating. Warmth spreads in his chest when he notices he’s a bit taller than Changbin, tall enough for him to have to look up a bit. It makes him feel proud. God, he’s so fucking angry - and horny.

Changbin’s eyes widen for a second but then he pulls himself out of it. He stares back at Minho defiantly, not willing to lose the silent battle for dominance that Minho was putting up. They stared at each other for longer than needed, both of them trying to put up with the other.

“What are you doing?” Changbin finally spoke, breaking the battling silence. His voice came out way weaker and smaller than intended, though. Minho smirks.

“What does it _look_ like I’m doing, huh?” He snarks back smugly. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? Last time I checked, tuning in a partner’s radio and jerking off as he hears is not the average Nascar driver activity,” he pauses and leans in to whisper in Changbin’s earlobe. “Or maybe it is for you, _slut_.” 

Minho moves back and sees Changbin has closed his eyes. A quick glance downwards tells him he’s hard, too.

Minho suddenly slaps Changbin. He slaps him so hard he turns his head to the side. Changbin gasps loudly and opens his eyes widely, mouth parted.

“There we go, open your fucking eyes,” Minho grabs Changbin’s jaw in a way that his thumb digs in the red, heated cheek that was just slapped and sends a wave of pain and pleasure through Changbin’s body. He harshly turns Changbin so he’s making eye contact with him. “And watch me as I _wreck_ you.”

Instantly, everything changes. A hand grips Changbin’s hair so tightly it leaves his scalp tingling as he’s yanked forward and onto the floor on all fours. The movement is so quick that he takes a moment to breathe, but Minho’s foot finds its way under Changbin’s chin and lifts it up slowly so he’s looking up at him.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he says with disgust. “Get on your knees, whore. Hands behind your back.”

Changbin moves quickly. He won’t ever verbally admit to being so easy to submit but he can’t really help it, it’s in his nature.

“Aw, look how quickly it complies,” Changbin’s eyes close again at being called _it_ , and he tries his hardest to suppress his reaction: he manages to keep in his moan, but his legs involuntarily spread apart. Hands thread in his hair and his head is pulled backwards harshly, so he opens his eyes. “What the fuck did I say about closing your eyes?” Changbin flinches as Minho spits on his face and then spreads it around his slapped cheek with his free hand. His cheek is so sensitive that Changbin can feel Minho’s gooey saliva so vividly against his skin–it’s weirdly soothing. “Eyes on me at all times, slut. Or are you too fucking dumb to follow that simple order?”

That’s what breaks Changbin. 

He moans loud and long, trying his hardest to keep his eyes from slipping shut. Minho just keeps staring at him for one second too many, making Changbin start to squirm under his gaze. Minho lets go of his hair and straightens up.

“Strip.” He barks, and Changbin doesn’t have it in him to rebel. 

Minho just stares at him boringly as Changbin undresses, arms crossed on his chest. Changbin fumbles a couple of times, brain blurring rapidly. Once his suit is at his ankles, though, he _actually_ stumbles and falls at Minho’s feet, who snorts.

“Oh my God, you’re actually fucking brainless,” he laughs at him evilly, making Changbin start to blush in humiliation. He can’t even make a move to recover from the fall since he’s so embarrassed, yet his dick is throbbing. His elbows support him as his head hangs in shame. “I guess this is what I get for ending up third. _A fucking failed toy_.”

Changbin moans and lets himself drop completely on the floor, trying to grind against it just to feel any sort of friction, embarrassing himself even further in front of his enemy. The need is so big he doesn’t have it in him to care.

“Are you fucking the floor? Seriously?” Minho crouches and yanks his head back from his hair once again to make eye-contact with him. Changbin’s eyes are glassy and his mouth is wide open as he ruts against the dirty floor, short, needy whines escaping his lips. He can’t stop his hips from grinding against it, getting a slight relief from doing so. Minho keeps laughing. “You’re fucking gross. I’ve never even mopped this floor. Who would want to fuck someone as filthy as you?” He gets up again, crosses his arms and looks down at him. The imagery makes Changbin whine. “Go on. This is how you’re going to reach your first orgasm.” Changbin whines once more but in frustration; the friction is not enough to get off properly. Minho’s face darkens, though, and he crouches again. “ _You_ got yourself into this,” he grabs his jaw harshly again. “I _was_ going to jerk you off, but the brainless slut decided to fuck the floor. So now you’re fucking the floor until you cum.” He said as he patted Changbin’s cheek tentatively, making him flinch and wait for a hard slap that never really came. 

Changbin can’t bring himself to care about anything other than the heat spreading in his tummy.

“I,” Changbin tries to speak. “I’m gonna cum.” His voice sounds nothing like what Minho’s ever heard and it makes him twitch in his pants. He wants–no, scratch that, he _needs_ to pull more moans out of Changbin. 

“Oh look at that! It speaks!” Minho replies, voice dripping with degradation; trying to use what he’s gathered worked better at giving Changbin pleasure. “Go ahead, filthy whore. You can cum. Enjoy it, ‘cause this might be the only time I allow you to.”

Changbin snaps. His hips stutter and he arches his back as he cums _hard_. His body shakes as waves of pleasure from what feels like the best orgasm he’s had in years hit him like a tide. He’s left catching his breath for some seconds, body still twitching occasionally from the aftermath of a really intense orgasm. His brain still can’t quite digest that Minho said it was his first, which means there’s more to come.

He’s thankful Minho gives him a moment, because as soon as Minho seemed fit, he sprung into action, forcing Changbin back on his knees by pulling him with a hand around his neck. Changbin was so out of it - and still is - that he didn’t even notice that Minho was now naked. 

Anger still pumps in Minho’s veins and the need to get off is tremendous, but something about the way Changbin looks up at him, looking disoriented and distant, makes him want to stop for a second and check on him as much as it makes his dick throb. He was already in position, one hand on Changbin’s nape and the other holding his cock which was lined up with Changbin’s lips, who had graciously parted them. But the distant look in Changbin’s eyes still throws him off and he finds himself caring for the other driver and wanting to check on how he’s doing.

“Hey, Seo,” he says softly and it makes Changbin blink slowly and tilt his head to the side, wordlessly asking what’s up. “Can you speak for me?”

Confusion flashes in Changbin’s eyes but he still manages to move away a little from Minho’s cock and he allows it. “Y-” Changbin tries. “Yeah.”

“Alright. How are you feeling?” He tries to sound careless and annoyed but ultimately fails.

It strikes Changbin as a surprise. Unexpected. He thought he was just going to be used the way Minho wanted, and that there wasn’t going to be any type of checking up. Warmth springs in his stomach. “Tired, but I do still want you to use me,” his speech is slurred and lazy, and it’s so hard to say it out loud to your enemy, but he still tries to say it in a way that makes him sound cocky and brave, trying to gain back his tag of _mean, bad boy_ even after Minho saw him in his most vulnerable state. “And I do want you to fuck me,” this, he says in a lower voice. “How are _you_ feeling?”

Minho smirks - a dangerous, killing smirk. His hand is back on Changbin’s nape.

“Peachy.” And he shoves himself inside of Changbin’s throat. 

Changbin’s eyes widen and he gags at the first contact of Minho’s tip against the back of his throat. The way Changbin’s throat constricts around him steals a groan out of Minho and he can’t help himself as he tilts his head back, threads his fingers in Changbin’s hair and fucks his throat at a merciless pace, finally feeling some relief. Changbin gags the first couple of thrusts before getting used to Minho’s length (which is pretty much average) and the strength in which he rams into his throat, but after a while he relaxes his jaw and his body too, feeling sleepy and hazy. That doesn’t stop the tears from falling freely down his cheeks, and snot gathering under his nostrils.

When Minho casts a glance down and sees Changbin fighting to keep his eyes open, something in him snaps. He pulls out and gets closer to his face.

“What is it, slut? Am I going too soft on you? You think this is boring?” He spits, grabbing his cock and holding it close to his face. He starts slapping Changbin’s cheeks with his dick and smearing precum all around his face. Changbin opens his mouth wider, tongue darting out to lick what he can. Minho grabs Changbin’s head with both hands again and starts fucking his face, rubbing his cock against his cheek and eyelids right next to his nose. His scrunching his nose and his eyes are tightly shut. The feeling of Changbin’s features against his cock is driving Minho crazy. It’s so degrading and filthy and Changbin’s face is red and covered in saliva, tears, snot and precum. It’s like this that Minho thinks Changbin looks stunning. Like, out of this world gorgeous. He can’t look away from the imagery. Every second he remembers this is the man that costed him a fucking championship he wants to _destroy_ him, but he’s just so breathtaking. In such a way that suddenly he realizes he’s about to cum.

He really wants to stop, turn Changbin around and fuck his perfect little hole until it hurts, until Changbin feels the pain and humiliation Minho felt when he was given the third place price, but he can’t stop himself. He keeps humping Changbin’s face and he’s still shocked by how pretty he looks. It’s all he can think about, all his brain can wrap around, his mind chanting Seo, Seo, _Seo_.

“Ah, Changbin, you look so fucking gorgeous with my dick on your face,” and he can’t stop himself. He can’t stop himself from saying it, he can’t stop himself from calling his historical enemy by his first name, he can’t stop himself from rutting madly against his cheeks and lips and eyes. “Baby, baby, you look so good against my cock, like you were fucking made for me to use. My pretty fuck doll,” he’s not even looking down at him anymore. His eyes are closed as he just rambles on without thinking, driven purely by immeasurable pleasure and so focused on his own release that everything else vanishes until it’s just him and Seo.

Changbin gathers all his strength to whisper in between thrusts, “Please cum on _your_ fuck doll,” and Minho does. He cums so hard it mostly ends on Changbin’s hair, making it sticky and gross, but some drips down on his eyelids and cheeks. Minho's legs shake, enough for him to let go and drop to his knees in front of Changbin. He feels sort of ashamed for seeming so… _vulnerable_ , but relaxes once he opens his eyes and sees his enemy’s eyes are still closed, still catching his breath.

And Minho scarily realizes that Changbin still looks _stunning_.

He doesn’t get to dwell much on it though, since Changbin blinks his eyes open and looks at him for a second. They don’t really speak; letting everything sink in is already a tough task. Minho feels weirdly affectionate. He may want to ask Seo if he’s okay. If he liked it. If he wants a second round. If he wants a kiss, and maybe a cuddle session.

However, he settles for a rushed “Want a beer?” And he despises himself for it.

Except it makes Changbin laugh. Which makes Minho smile and laugh along, and everything feels okay. A weight is lifted from his shoulders and, although he hates appreciating Seo’s company, he guesses he can be angry at himself later. Enjoying this moment seems kind of… worth it.

“Sure. Let me just,” Changbin's hand makes its way to his face and he wipes the mix of fluids on it with his fingers, which he afterwards takes to his mouth and starts to suck on and _oh my god_ , Minho’s brain shortcuts.

“D-Don’t,” Minho starts but trips on his words. “Uh, let me get you a towel.”

Changbin snorts and smirks at him, feeling powerful from making Minho flustered. He seems to let his guards down after sex, and Changbin takes a mental note of this. Minho flees the living room before Changbin can comment.

Once cleaned and dressed, sitting on Minho's couch with a can of beer in their hands, the drivers were surrounded by silence; nor comfortable or uncomfortable, just silence. And Minho would love to break it, would love to let Changbin know that he doesn’t think any of the things he told him during the whole intercourse, that he respects Changbin no matter how badly he fucked his race up today, and that he might have gone overboard and apologize for it. But he fearfully chooses silence over showing a little piece of his real self and his vulnerability to his _enemy_ out of all people. He would never allow a man to take advantage of him again. So Minho accepts silence, albeit regretfully, and hopes his words somehow make their way telepathically to Changbin’s brain.

A brave hand landing softly on his thigh pulls him out of his thoughts, and makes him question if telepathy is actually a thing. Minho looks up at Changbin, who’s looking ahead, a faint blush in his cheeks.

“I enjoyed myself,” he squeezes Minho’s thigh and then turns to make eye contact. His eyes carefully dart to Minho’s lips and his stomach turns, but they only linger there for a second. He meets Minho’s gaze again and continues; “I like it rough. It’s alright.” Minho nods slowly. His body relaxes, and when he was about to reply- “Thanks for the beer. I’ll see you next season.”

Minho is baffled. Absolutely baffled, because Changbin squeezes his thigh one more time and gets up, dropping his empty can of beer on the table and making his way to the door. Changbin is _leaving_ , and Minho fears his own reaction, longing for his enemy to stay a little while longer.

However, keeping quiet is what enemy Minho would do, so Minho does just that; stays absolutely silent and follows the man with his gaze.

Changbin opens the door and is standing on the doorway when he stops.

“Oh and,” he starts, and Minho deliriously thinks he can hear him smile. “I’d apologize for ruining your season, but if making you lose gets me _this_ , then I’m not sorry at all,” he looks at Minho over his shoulder and a little smirk plays on his lips. “So get ready for third place again, _loser_.”

With that, he closes the door.

Next time, Minho might _actually_ stab him to death.

But third place has never sounded so good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If there are any tags that you think should be added, please let me know on the comments or DM me on my [nsfw twitter](https://twitter.com/bunsevng) (or just follow me if you'd like!) 
> 
> Leave me a comment, request or anything in my [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/bunsevng)


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